Produced by Annie McGuire
Both girls gasped and stared incredulously]
THE BOARDED-UP HOUSE
BYAUGUSTA HUIELL SEAMANAuthor of "Jacqueline of The Carrier Pigeons," etc.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BYC. CLYDE SQUIRES
NEW YORKTHE CENTURY CO.
Copyright, 1915, byTHE CENTURY CO.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I GOLIATH LEADS THE WAY 3
II IN SEARCH OF ADVENTURE 22
III AMATEUR DETECTIVES 33
IV THE ROOM OF MYSTERY 46
V JOYCE MAKES A NEW DISCOVERY. SO DOES GOLIATH 56
VI JOYCE'S THEORY 68
VII GOLIATH MAKES ANOTHER DISCOVERY 79
VIII CYNTHIA HAS AN IDEA 90
IX THE MEMORIES OF GREAT-AUNT LUCIA 107
X AN EXCITING DISCOVERY 122
XI THE ROOM THAT WAS LOCKED 135
XII A SLIGHT DISAGREEMENT 145
XIII THE GREAT ILLUMINATION 154
XIV THE MEDDLING OF CYNTHIA 166
XV THE STRANGER AT THE DOOR 173
XVI JOYCE EXPLAINS 184
XVII IN WHICH ALL MYSTERIES ARE SOLVED 192
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Both girls gasped and stared incredulously _Frontispiece_
A flight of stairs could be dimly discerned 19
They stared with the fascination of horror 43
"Well, what do you suppose that can be?" queried Cynthia 61
"Do you know any real elderly people, father?" 99
"Oh, I wish I were Sherlock Holmes!" 125
There was nothing to do but sit and enjoy the spectacle 161
Then, with one accord they began to steer their way around the furniture 213
CHAPTER I
GOLIATH LEADS THE WAY
Cynthia sat on her veranda steps, chin in hand, gazing dolefully at thegray September sky. All day, up to half an hour before, the sky had beencloudlessly blue, the day warm and radiant. Then, all of a sudden, thesun had slunk shamefacedly behind a high rising bank of cloud, and itsretiring had been accompanied by a raw, chilly wind. Cynthia scowled.Then she shivered. Then she pulled the collar of her white sweater up toher ears and buttoned it over. Then she muttered something about"wishing Joy would hurry, for it's going to rain!" Then she dug herhands into her sweater pockets and stared across the lawn at a bluehydrangea bush with a single remaining bunch of blossoms hanging heavyon its stem.
Suddenly there was a flash of red on a veranda farther down the street,and a long, musical whistle. Cynthia jumped up and waved madly. Theflash of red, speeding toward her, developed into a bright red sweater,cap, and skirt.
"Don't scold! Now you mustn't be cross, Cynthia. Anne was just putting abig batch of sugar-cookies in the oven, and I simply _had_ to wait tillthey were done! I've brought a lot over for you. Here!" The owner of thered sweater crammed a handful of hot cookies into Cynthia's pocket.
"You did keep me waiting an age, Joy," Cynthia began, struggling with amouthful of cooky; "but I forgive you. I'd almost begun to be--angry!"Joy (her right name was Joyce) ignored the latter remark.
"We can't go! Momsie positively forbade it. Why on earth couldn't ithave kept sunny a little longer? It'll rain any minute now, I suppose."
"I know," Cynthia sympathized. "Mother forbade me too, long before youcame out, and we counted on it so! Won't be much more chance to gocanoeing _this_ season." They sat down listlessly on the veranda steps,and solaced themselves with the last remnants of the cookies. Lifeappeared a trifle drab, as it usually does when cherished plans aredemolished and the sun goes in! Very shortly there were no more cookies.
"What on earth has happened to your hydrangea bush? It was full ofblossoms yesterday," Joyce suddenly exclaimed.
"Bates's pup!" replied Cynthia, laconically. There was no need offurther explanation. Joyce giggled at its shorn appearance, and thenrelapsed into another long silence. There were times when these twocompanions could talk frantically for hours on a stretch. There wereother seasons when they would sit silent yet utterly understanding oneanother for equally prolonged periods. They had been bosom friends frombabyhood, as their parents had been before them. Shoulder to shoulderthey had gone through kindergarten and day-school together, and were nowabreast in their first high-school year. Even their birthdays fell inthe same month. And the only period of the year which saw them partedwas the few weeks during vacation when their respective parents (who haddifferent tastes in summer resorts) dragged them unwillingly away tomountain and sea-shore. Literally, nothing else ever separated them savethe walls of their own dwellings--and the Boarded-up House.
It is now high time to introduce the Boarded-up House, which has beenstaring us out of countenance ever since this story began! For thematter of that, it had stared the two girls out of countenance eversince they came to live in the little town of Rockridge, one on eachside of it. And long before they came there, long before ever they wereborn, or Rockridge had begun its mushroom growth as a pretty, modern,country town, the Boarded-up House had stared the passers-by out ofcountenance with almost irritating persistence.
It was set well back from the street, in a big inclosure guarded by avery rickety picket-fence, and a gate that was never shut but hungloosely on one hinge. Unkempt bushes and tall rank grass flourished inthis inclosure, and near the porch grew two pine-trees like sentinels atthe entrance. At the back was a small orchard of ancient cherry-trees,and near the rear door a well-curb, with the great sweep half rottedaway.
The house itself was a big, rambling affair of the Colonial type, withthree tall pillars supporting the veranda roof and reaching above thesecond story. On each side of the main part was a generous wing. Itstood rather high on a sloping lawn, and we have said that it "stared"at passers-by--with truth, because very near the roof were two littlewindows shaped like half-circles. They somehow bore a close resemblanceto a pair of eyes that stared and stared and _stared_ with calm,unwinking blankness.
As to the other windows and doors, they were all tightly boarded up. Theboards in the big front door had a small door fashioned in them, andthis door fastened with a very rusty lock. No one ever came in or out.No one ever tended the grounds. The place had been without an occupantfor years. The Boarded-up House had always been boarded up, as long asits neighbors could recollect. It was not advertised for sale. When thelittle town of Rockridge began to build up, people speculated about itfor a while with considerable interest. But as they could never obtainany definite information about it, they finally gave it up, and acceptedthe queer old place as a matter of course.
To Cynthia Sprague and Joyce Kenway, it had, when they first came tolive on either side of it, some five years before, afforded for a whilean endless source of attraction. They had played house on the broadveranda, climbed the trees in the orchard, organized elaborate games ofhide-and-seek among the thick, high bushes that grew so clos
e to thewalls, and in idle moments had told each other long stories about itsformer (imaginary) inmates. But as they grew older and more absorbed inoutside affairs, their interest in it ceased, till at length it came tobe only a source of irritation to them, since it separated their homesby a wide space that they considered rather a nuisance to have totraverse.
So they sat, on this threatening afternoon, cheated of their anticipatedcanoe-trip on the little stream that threaded its way through their townto the wide Sound,--sat munching sugar-cookies, glowering at theweather, and thinking of nothing very special. Suddenly there was aflash of gray across the lawn, closely pursued by a streak of yellow.Both girls sprang to their feet, Joyce exclaiming indignantly:
"Look at Bates's pup chasing Goliath!" The latter individual was theKenways' huge Maltese cat, well deserving of his name in appearance, butnot in nature, for he was known to be the biggest coward in cat-dom. Thegirls stood on tiptoe to watch the chase. Over the lawn and through anopening in the picket-fence of the Boarded-up House sped Goliath, hisenemy yapping at his heels, and into the tangled thicket of bushesabout the nearer wing. Into the bushes also plunged Bates' pup, andthere ensued the sound of sundry baffled yelps. Then, after a moment,Bates's pup emerged, one ear comically cocked, and ambled away in searchof other entertainment. Nothing else happened, and the girls resumedtheir seat on the veranda steps. Presently Joyce remarked, idly:
"Does it strike you as queer, Cynthia, what could have become ofGoliath?"
"Not at all," replied Cynthia, who had no special gift of imagination."What _could_ have happened to him? I suppose he climbed into thebushes."
"He couldn't have done that without being in reach of the pup," retortedJoyce. "And he couldn't have come out either side, or we'd have seenhim. Now where can he be? I vote we go and look him up!" She had begunwith but a languid interest, seeking only to pass the time, and hadsuddenly ended up with tremendous enthusiasm. That was like Joyce.
"I don't see what you want to do that for," argued Cynthia. "I don'tcare what became of him as long as he got away from Bates's pup, and I'mvery comfortable right here!" Cynthia was large and fair and plump, andinclined to be a little indolent.
"But don't you see," insisted Joyce, "that he must have hidden in somestrange place,--and one he must have known about, too, for he wentstraight to it! I'm just curious to find out his 'bunk.'" Joyce was slimand dark and elfin, full of queer pranks, sudden enthusiastic plans, andvery vivid of imagination, a curious contrast to the placid, slow-movingCynthia. Joyce also, as a rule, had her way in matters, and she had itnow.
"Very well!" sighed Cynthia, in slow assent. "Come on!" They wandereddown the steps, across the lawn, through the gap in the fence, and triedto part the bushes behind which Goliath had disappeared. But they werethick lilac bushes, grown high and rank. Joyce struggled through them,tearing the pocket of her sweater and pulling her hair awry. Cynthiaprudently remained on the outskirts The quest did not greatly interesther.
"There's nothing back there but the foundation of the house," sheremarked.
"You're wrong. There is!" called back Joy, excitedly, from the depths."Crawl around the end of the bushes, Cyn! It will be easier. I want toshow you something." There was so much suppressed mystery in Joy's voicethat Cynthia obeyed without demur, and back of the bushes found herexamining a little boarded-up window into the cellar. One board of ithad, through age and dampness, rotted and fallen away. There happened tobe no glass window-frame behind it.
"Here's where Goliath disappeared," whispered Joyce, "and he's probablyin there now!" Cynthia surveyed the hole unconcernedly.
"That's so," she agreed. "He will probably come out after a while. Nowthat you've discovered his 'bunk,' I hope you're coming back to theveranda. We might have a game of tennis, too, before it rains." Joycesat back on her heels, and looked her companion straight in the eye.
"Cynthia," she said, in a tense whisper, "did it ever occur to you thatthere's something _strange_ about the Boarded-up House?"
"No," declared Cynthia, honestly, "it never did. I never thought aboutit."
"Well, I have--sometimes, at least--and once in a long while, do youknow, I've even dreamed I was exploring it. Look here, Cynthia, wouldn'tyou _like_ to explore it? I'm just crazy to!" Cynthia stared andshrugged her shoulders.
"Mercy, no! It would be dark and musty and dirty. Besides, we've nobusiness in there. We'd be trespassers. What ever made you think of it?There's probably nothing to see, anyway. It's an empty house."
"That's just where you're mistaken!" retorted Joyce. "I heard Father sayonce that it was furnished throughout, and left exactly as it was,--sosome one told him, some old lady, I think he said. It's a Colonialmansion, too, and stood here before the Revolution. There wasn't anytown of Rockridge, you know, till just recently,--only the turnpike roadoff there where Warrington Avenue is now. This house was the only onearound, for a long distance."
"Well, that sounds interesting, but, even still, I don't see why youwant to get inside, anyhow. I'm perfectly satisfied with the outside.And, more than that, we couldn't get in if we tried. So there!" IfCynthia imagined she had ended the argument with Joyce by any suchreasoning, she was doomed to disappointment. Joyce shrugged hershoulders with a disgusted movement.
"I never saw any one like you, Cynthia Sprague! You've absolutely _no_imagination! Don't you see how Goliath got in? Well, I could get in thesame way, and so could you!" She gave the boards a sharp pull, andsucceeded in dislodging another. "Five minutes' work will clear thiswindow, and then--"
"But good gracious, Joy, you wouldn't break in a window of a strangehouse and climb in the cellar like a burglar!" cried Cynthia, genuinelyshocked.
"I just would! Why, it's an _adventure_, Cynthia, like the kind we'vealways longed for. You know we've always said we'd love to have someadventures, above everything else. And we _never_ have, and now here'sone right under our noses!" Joyce was almost tearful in her earnestnessto convince the doubting Cynthia. And then Cynthia yielded, as shealways did, to Joy's entreaties.
"Very well. It is an adventure, I suppose. But why not wait till somebright, sunny day? It'll be horridly dark and gloomy in there thisafternoon."
"Nonsense!" cried Joyce, who never could bear to wait an instant incarrying out some cherished plan. "Run back to your house, Cynthia, andsmuggle out a candle and a box of matches. And _don't_ let any one seewhat you take!" But this Cynthia flatly refused to do, urging that shewould certainly be discovered and held up for instant explanation by thelynx-eyed Bridget who guarded the kitchen.
"Very well, then I'll have to get them from mine, I suppose. Anne neverasks what I'm doing," said Joyce, resignedly. "You stay here and wait!"She sped away toward her own house, but was soon back, matches andcandle under her sweater, her hands full of fresh cookies.
"We'll eat these when we're inside. Here, stuff them into your pockets!And help me break these other boards away. My! but they're rotten!"Cynthia helped, secretly very reluctant and fearful of consequences, andthey soon had the little window free of obstructions. Joyce poked in herhead and peered about.
"It's as dark as a pocket, but I see two things like balls offire,--that's Goliath up on a beam, I suppose. It isn't far to theground. Here goes!" She slipped in, feet first, let herself down, hungon to the sill a moment, then disappeared from view.
"Oh, Joyce!" gasped Cynthia, sticking her head through the opening intothe dark, "where _are_ you?"
"Right here!" laughed Joyce from below. "Trying to light the candle.Come along! The stones of the wall are like regular steps, you can putyour feet on 'em!"
"Oh, but the _mice_, and the _spiders_, and--and all sorts of things!"groaned Cynthia. "I'm afraid of them!"
"Nonsense! _they_ can't hurt you!" replied Joyce, unsympathetically. "Ifyou don't come soon, I'm going on. I'm so impatient to see things, Ican't wait. You'd better hurry up, if you're coming."
"But it isn't _right_! It's trespassing!" cried Cynthia, making her laststand. Joyce scorned to argue
further along this line.
"We talked that all over before. Good-by! I'm off! I've got the candlelit." Cynthia suddenly surrendered.
"Oh, wait, wait! I'm coming!" She adopted Joyce's mode of ingress, butfound it scarcely as easy as it looked, and her feet swung in space,groping wildly for the steps described.
"I'm stuck! I can't move! Oh, why am I so fat and clumsy!" she moaned.Joyce laughed, placed her companion's feet on a ledge, and hauled herdown, breathless, cobwebby, and thoroughly scared.
A flight of stairs could be dimly discerned]
The lighted candle threw but a feeble illumination on the big, barespace they stood in. The beams overhead were thick with cobwebs hanginglike gray portieres from every projection. Otherwise the inclosure wasclear except for a few old farm implements in a distant corner. As Joyceraised the candle over her head, a flight of stairs could be dimlydiscerned.
"This way!" she ordered, and they moved toward it cautiously. At thatmoment, there came from behind them a sudden scratching and scrambling,and then a thud. Both girls uttered a low, frightened shriek and clungtogether. But it was only Goliath, disturbed in his hiding-place. Theyturned in time to see him clambering through the window.
"Joyce, this is horrid!" gasped Cynthia. "My heart is beating like atrip-hammer. Let's go back."
"It's lovely!" chuckled Joyce. "It's what I've always longed for. Ifeel like Christopher Columbus! I wouldn't go back now for worlds! Andto think we've neglected such a mystery at our front doors, as you mightsay, all these years!" And she dragged the protesting Cynthia toward thecellar stairs.